Diary of the Lost
by Tabiebear
Summary: What if Slade blackmailed Robin into an apprenticeship during the time he worked with Batman? Follow the journal entries of a young eight-year-old boy who must, alone, learn what seperates hero from villain. Rated T for safety. Read and review.
1. Hero

**_I am a hero. I am Robin. I choose this name because it's my hero name. And, in this nightmare I've landed in, I must be a hero 24/7 to fight off the darkness around me. _**

_**Journal, 4/3/13**_

_**Like I said, I am Robin. I'm introducing myself to a notebook, yeah, I guess I've lost it. I've heard talking to yourself is crazy, but apparently writing to yourself isn't? I mean that's what journals do, right? Sure, we'll go with that. Obviously, I'm kinda new at this. I mean, my mom always encouraged me to write in one as a kid, but I just ended up doodling in it. Alfred, a titled butler but closer to a grandfather, hinted at me writing one too, but I thought it was kinda sissy, I don't know. I guess I just started writing now because I need to talk to someone...someone who won't use my words against me, someone aside from Slade.**_

_**Slade. That name seems like the whole source of evil for me now. How could just a simple name stir up so much hatred? Just a week ago, it meant nothing, nothing at all. A week ago, such a short amount of time seems so long ago. I guess that's when it all happened, when this whole nightmare happened...**_

* * *

~1 week ago from current date~

Dick runs in the door, knocks off his shoes, tosses aside his backpack, and cartwheels down the hall. His conserved energy from school bursts free, coursing through his body.

"I smell cookies!" He proclaims, jumping up on the counter. The hot pan of cookies taunts him with a sweet chocolate aroma of freshness. Alfred, his back facing Dick's direction while putting away the ingredients, permits him to take one. The boy's fingers leap for the pastry with excitement, but the hot touch of it shoos him away. He holds in a yelp, stuffing his burnt finger into his mouth.

"Wash off your finger with cool water, Master Dick," Alfred orders. Dick rolls his eyes with a slight smile. _You really can't hide anything from Alfred_. He flips off the counter and perches himself at the end of the sink. As his finger bathes in the freezing faucet water, he notices Bruce walk in, the man's face is absorbed in a paper. _Is that his speech he's working on? _Dick questions in his head. The child cocks his head to observe his mentor's facial expression more. Bruce fakes a smile and whispers the words to himself.

_Yep, it's the speech._

"You still working on that?" Dick asks while turning off the faucet and washing his wet hand with a kitchen rag.

"Oh, sorry Dick, didn't see you there," Bruce says as he puts the paper down on the counter. "How was school?"

"I learned a new theory today!"

"Hm, Pythagorean's?"

"No, my own. You know why we have to sit still at our desks all day?" Dick back-flips off of the sink so he's facing Bruce now.

"So that kids can learn and not make havoc for your teachers?" He teases, a cocky smile on his face, far more genuine than the one he displayed when reading his speech. Dick always knows how to scavenge out a real smile from the billionaire.

"AHA!" Dick says, his finger pointing at Bruce. "That's what they want everyone to think! Truth is, the government is training us to sit at a desk all day in a cubical as 'civil citizens'!"

Bruce actually seems to consider the words with interest. "Well, you've got a theory there," he admits, not denying it.

"Sure do! Physical activity actually helps you learn because of increase of oxygen to the brain! I did it at the circus all the time while studying. Practicing soccer, gymnastics, stretches, you name it."

"While on that subject, your teacher, Ms. Maple, called today," Alfred says, raising an eyebrow. "She wishes for you to stop kicking your legs while she teaches."

"SEE! She's trying to train me like a dog! But I won't break!"

"Or she's trying to let the other students focus," Bruce suggests.

"Which is what they're totally doing when I'm not kicking my feet," Dick responds, mischievously. He reaches, more cautiously, for another cookie. The dessert's temper has subsided enough for him to pick it up. Happily, he stuffs the sweet gooey goodness into his mouth. Its warm sugary taste melts into his mouth, chocolate running over gleeful taste buds.

"Yet you're sitting when watching T.V," Bruce teases.

Dick laughs at this truth while licking his sticky, sweet fingers. "Guilty as charged," He says, carelessly.

Bruce scans over his speech once more. "Go on and finish up your homework so you can go on patrol tonight," he says, his eyes still on the paper.

"Yes, sir," Dick moans with an exhausted smile as he drags himself up to his room.

~that night~

It's a calm night. Gotham's crime is mild and little as the Dynamic Duo runs through the deep covers of darkness. A bank robbery, murder, kidnapping, and fire occur but the two handle them with relative ease. Mild is a relative term for dear Gotham.

"Is that the last of them?" an ash-covered Robin with a young toddler, rescued from the fire, in his arms asks Batman.

Batman holds two unconscious adults over his shoulders. He puts them down and nods, solemnly. The saved victims of the fire thank the heroes and run off as the firemen try to put out the fire. Batman walks away, his head consumed in suspicion.

"Fire didn't seem accidental, did it?" Robin asks, following after him.

"No," he says roughly. "I'm going to investigate the remains of the building. Patrol the city a bit longer then head home. Tomorrow's a school day."

"You sure you don't need any help here?"

"Possibly, but not as much as you need your sleep. Go on now," Batman orders, staring off at the raging fire being tamed by spitting hoses.

Robin nods, heading to his motorcycle to watch the rest of the city's dark corners of crime.

City lights display him like the circus did and he gives the moon, his audience, a show in the cool, crisp night. Grappling hooks are his ropes and the city is his trapeze. He flips in the air, accompanying the wind that caresses his face. Traffic is the ring-master announcing the act and the acrobat leaps off a twenty story building, stabbing the frozen air with his falling body, like a missal.

Five stories down, he twirls like a kite caught in a storm.

Ten stories down, he tumbles, a scream from a woman, noticing his falling position, sounds.

Fifteen stories down, he throws out a grappling hook and fires it out to an advertisement ad hanging on the ledge. It fastens its hold and he lands safely to the floor. He discovers the terrified woman beside him and he offers a reassuring smile to her pale complexion.

"You new here?" The young daredevil asks.

She nods, mutely still shocked from the performance.

He bows, like he did at the circus to fans. "Well, then, welcome to Gotham," he says then clicks a button on his gadget, the hook releases from its hold, and shoots downward. Once it's raveled back into the gadget, Robin takes off, seeking for trouble lurking within Gotham's murky shadows of crime. An alley catches his wandering attention so he curioulsy follows its deadly path, examining any danger ready to eliminate.

Suddenly, the city seems to hush itself as if afraid to speak when something dwells within the dark. Rats cautiously hum their squeaks in the background while the wind hushes any noise daring to sound with an eerie tone. Leaves shiver from fear. They blow out of the alley, warning him to follow.

He roams the dark setting, the smell of smoke lightly touching the air. He hears a noise and turns sharply to find it was just a drop of leftover rain from a gutter. He allows his heart to rest from excitement as he continues to follow the alleyway. A thought drifts in his head to turn back.

_No, _He thinks to himself, _heroes fear nothing. _

Suddenly, a metal device streams through the air before piercing itself in the brick wall barely above him. Startled, he looks up to see the metal weapon. He shoots his head around to find who threw it, preparing a fighting position.

"Who's there?" He demands, turning on the night vision in his mask, disappointed to find no one there to answer.

He runs deeper in the dark, pulling out a batarang.

"Show yourself!"

A noise perks his attention. He runs after it, swiftly. He stops in his tracks to capture another sound. Wind whistles once more. His ears search for a noise within the night's song. The blue eyes travel left and right, observing the still environment. A bat flits by him and he almost attacks, but restrains himself, his eyes reacting before impulse. He lets out a soft sigh, turning to leave, but a noise behind the dumpster snarls his concentration and makes him leap to the core of the sound.

Darting to the dumpster, he finds a stray cat, who hisses her resentment toward him. His face falls, turning back to where the metal piece lies in the wall. Discouraged, he yanks the gadget out of the brick wall. The shape of metal is a staggered, sharp 'S'.

What could an 'S' mean?

* * *

_**If only I knew what that simple letter meant for me.**_


	2. Deal with the Devil

_**Journal, 4/5/13**_

_**Training was crappy today. I'm fighting stupid Sladebots. Slade says that he's going to see what I can do in combat so he knows what to teach me in further lessons. He criticizes my abilities a lot. If he thinks I stink at fighting so much then he should have gotten a different apprentice, possibly one who-I don't know- actually WANTS to do the job? Ah, that's right, then he couldn't make someone's life miserable. Silly me. Anyways, he says I need to be more aggressive, more head-on. Then he says Batman never taught me how to do that. That got me mad. So I stopped fighting the Sladebots and aimed my bo-staff at Slade's head. I'm too slow and end up pinned against the wall. He congratulates me for my aggressive, ruthless action.**_

_**That snake! He always gets what he wants by messing with my head, and I'm not strong enough yet to see it coming. I write this down, hoping that I can learn from this mistake because I'm afraid he'll use the method more frequently. So many mistakes. By the end of the day, it's all I can think about. And yet, when I think consider it, it was just a simple mistake that got me into this mess...**_

* * *

~week ago from current date~

-Dick Grayson-

The sun sinks her light into distant hills and streaks of leftover clouds touch the orange-tinted sky. Dick sits on the mansion roof and observes the 'S' shaped piece of metal he holds. He convinces himself not to inform Bruce of last night's event because the man's busy enough. Yet, there dwells within him a warning to not delay this information. He shrugs it off in that carefree mind of his. Many people attempt to hurt them on patrol. A failed attempt is nothing to report to The Dark Knight, himself. After all, he is a hero. And, as one, he shouldn't be so concerned about little situations like this, having far more pressing matters to consider...so why does last night's memory constantly consume his attention?

~that night~

Batman requests Robin's help deep into the darkening night. The Boy Wonder rides through the night's blankets of stars on his roaring motorcycle. _Maybe I can mention last night's situation on our way back to the mansion when we're done..., _he thinks to himself.

He receives directions to spy on a suspected drug bust while Batman gathers evidence against the crime. They've done this often so the boy allows casualty to ease his mind, and let habit control any actions- a mistake, on his part.

He hides on top of the edge of a shabby apartment, his binoculars focused on the suspects who sit outside, across from his position. Growing soon bored, he kicks his feet impatiently as the druggies stand there for almost an hour. His head lowers in exhaustion, sleep threatening to captivate his body. Offended by its sneak attack, he shakes it off and withholds a yawn as he continues watching the group. Night drags out, her hours growing more cruel and heavy as wind tries to lull the boy to the comfort of sleep. He's grown accustomed to these late hours, but never could master staying awake while sitting still.

Cautiously, Robin strays his eyes from the crime to pull out the metal 'S' out of his utility belt. He fiddles with its agility around his finger, admiring its light weight yet swift movements. Whoever made it must be a master of design. He puts it back and lifts his eyes to the crime scene once again. The suspects stand there, nervous of being caught. Robin lets out a sigh of boredom but practically swallows it with what happens next.

Unexpectedly, a familiar metal whirling sound snatches Robin's concentration, spiking up his attention span and igniting his energy. He leaps to the right to find another metal 'S' weapon, pierced on the edge of the building where he had just sat. His head snaps up to find the source of the attack. A shadowed man stands on an opposing building, his cryptic look watching the youth carefully. The wind carries a chill in fright, the air freezes as darkness seems so to somehow darken more around him. Beneath the mask, Robin's thick eyebrows bend in observation, his eyes grasping the image before him. He reaches for his earpiece communicator, just as Batman instructs him to do with any new threat. However, he halts his action, frantic to discover the figure is running away. Agitated to find the man leaving, he runs after him.

Over the buildings, he leaps after the attacker. He rides with the wind, his legs pumping furiously to match the figure's own speed. Trailing the mysterious man, afraid that he'll lose track of him, he copies every corner and turn he makes. The villain's shadowy figure almost blends into Gotham's own, but Robin runs closer, not letting the man out of sight.

_He's good, _the kid can't help but think. The man runs like lightning and fades like the darkness of a storm. Robin feels his back burn with itching sweat. His breaths are raspy and cut, oxygen failing to satisfy his input energy. He forces his numb legs to pass one another faster though his legs beg to stop. His sweaty, black hair clings to his face, desperately, but he notices none of it, only the speeding figure ahead of him. Th man jumps to the next building and Robin follows, fervently. Finally, a building too large to leap over blocks their path. The threat immediately pulls out a grappling hook and shoots himself upward. The young hero does the same quickly.

On their rapid way up, Robin throws out a batarang at him. He shoots a laser at it and it breaks. _Why doesn't he use the laser to finish me off? _The child's obsession to get him becomes too loud to answer that question. He reaches the top and Robin follows. At the roof, the boy sprint to his legs, prepared to continue the chase, but the man seems to believe it's finished.

Calmly, the tyrant leans against a glowing letter of the building, looking far from tired. Such a relaxed composition slightly embarrasses Robin by his own deep panting and heavy sweat. The glowing light gives the acrobat a clearer view of the man now. He's tall- about Bruce's height. He dresses in heavy metal, confounding Dick for his agility and speed. His mask is metal as well, half is black and the other is a dark orange. _Is that only one eye? _Robin considers. Yet he keeps in mind that perhaps a lurking shadow on the man's face deceives his sight.

"I'm impressed," the criminal admits in a cool manner while moving off of the letter. "You've kept up a good deal of the chase. I was afraid I might have to slow the pace down for you."

"Who are you?" Robin asks in a low but curious tone, ignoring all else around him.

The man laughs a dark, low chuckle. As he takes a step closer, Robin verifies that one of his eyes is, indeed, missing. He also observes a utility belt around the man's waist while straps filled with bullets crisscross the metal covered chest. He notes a gun attached to the man's leg and a sword strapped against the back. _Who is this guy, a walking armory?_

"I've come by many names," the man answers. His voice holds the venom of a snake but lowness of a tiger. "Slade, Deathstroke, your worst nightmare..."

"How does a jail number suit you?" Robin asks, displaying a voice of confidence while throwing out his bo-staff.

"You're more than welcome to try," he says, taking out his own bo-staff.

Robin takes a firm grasp on his weapon as he charges his challenge. He leaps into the air, aiming his bo-staff out like a joust. The opponent ducks slightly enough to miss the hit then slams Robin with the staff but the child back-flips into a stance, refusing to fall. The kid ducks immediately at the powerful incoming hit, overwhelmed with the man's instant attacks. A swipe to the feet, an aim for his head, an attempt to his shoulder, all barely dodged by natural reflexes. He can't recall ever fighting someone with such skill before, mind his training sessions with Bruce. And yet, he somehow feels that this man is still restraining full power.

"Good technique," the man comments. The end of the staff hits Robin's nose. "But poor precision."

The child growls, growing extremely competitive. Before the adversary can thrust another hit, he leaps up, thrashing his energy upon the man. The foe easily blocks it, thickening the boy's raw anger. He yells out a furious cry while fighting energetically.

"Ah, there you go," the man says, sounding very pleased while dodging the swift attacks from the younger fighter. His next words are whispered in a type of pride, "I knew you buried all of that raw anger somewhere within you."

"Would you just shut up?" Robin demands, furious that he can't hit his target. He jumps aiming a kick at the opponent, but the man grabs the young boy's foot and throws him into the glowing letter. He cries out, but lands on his own feet. The man delivers a punch, but Robin ducks and the fiend's arm breaks the letter, letting sparks fly. Robin rolls a good distance away back to his feet. It's just now that Robin notices an irritating beeping noise. He tries to ignore it as he continues his battle. He throws a batarang at the man but the snake catches the weapon. Indifferently, he looks at it before crushing it to pieces.

"Playing with bat toys won't get you far," he says in a dangerous growl. "Try these." He throws out round devices that fly at the child. Robin somersaults away while they explode behind him. He rises just to be hit to the floor by the foe's staff. He keeps hearing the beeping noise. _Beep Beep Beep._

He rolls back into a stance and charges the threat with a yell. The man throws his staff at him and he ducks at a low enough distance to jab the enemy in the gut. _Beep Beep Beep._ The rival hits Robin's wrist down and pulls his cape over his head. Robin growls at the attacker toying with him and squirms to break free. The man pulls on the cape harder and Robin falls to the floor once more. _Beep Beep Beep. _The kid finally recognizes the sound coming from his own earpiece Batman uses to contact him.

Due to being too frustrated by losing, Robin neglects logic in answering the call and yanks out the communicator, throwing it to the floor. He back-flips into a stance and charges the man again, twirling his bo-staff over his head. The man throws his staff at him. Robin slashes his stick at the enemy, blocking his attack. Their weapons clash together- swipe, duck, jab, hit-they follow this routine for a good five minutes until the man's staff quickens speed and hits Robin's nose, landing him, once more, to the ground.

"Good, but not good enough," he criticizes. On he floor, he glares at the foe, wiping the blood away from his nose before he tries kicking his legs beneath the man's ones. The opponent sees it coming and back-flips away. Robin rises, throwing punches out, constantly missing his aim. The man grabs the boy's wrist and pulls him close to the metal face where he can feel the hot breath hitting him like a summer's cheap breeze.

"Does Batman really teach so poorly?"

_That does it!_ Robin's eyes narrow and he back-flips, his leg actually hitting the man under the chin. The foe grunts and Robin runs up against the letter, back-flips again, and lands on the man's shoulders. Robin cross his legs around the man's neck to hold a firm grasp and forms his fists together about to knock the threat out but the staff slams into his face, weakening his hold. The man yanks Robin off and throws him to the floor. He lands roughly with a grunt. The opponent presses his boot upon Robin's small chest, leaning on it so he can feel the weight crush him. He screams in both anger and pain.

"Oh, come now. I know you can put up a better fight than that," he taunts and Robin snarls at him. Has he ever loathed a Gotham criminal so much? No memory comes to his mind, not even Joker torturing him.

"Such a shame. I was expecting so much more."

"Like I care what you think!"

"You should." He presses his foot down harder with those words.

"So why are you toying with me?" Robin demands in a weak voice from pressure of weight. "If you're going to kill me, why haven't you?"

"Now what good would you be to me dead, boy?" he asks this in a casual tone, tilting his head to the child's fallen form.

_No killing? Great. Another hostage situation._ "Just to let you know," Robin gasps through little amount of air, "kidnapping has never worked in the past," His nose scrunches upward in resentment. "Batman always win!"

"This isn't about Batman, Robin," he says this before lifting up his foot off. Robin rolls over to grasp back his breath. "This is about you." _That_ snatches his attention. His eyes widen, surprise evident even through his misleading mask. His head snaps to the man's direction. "It's always been about you,..Dick."

_He knows! _Dickthinks frantically. _He knows my identity! He knows! _A brief memory of how Batman taught him to respond to a revealed identity flashes in his head. He told Robin to NEVER display fear for it feeds the threat with a sense of power. So he forces his face and breathing to remain calm, but they don't while his heart races in horror.

"For some time now I've been looking for an apprentice...someone to follow in my footsteps as both an assassin and criminal." The young child hears a mental snap of realization sound in his head. The masked eyes bulge open in twisted understanding. He leans to Robin's shocked face. "And, Robin, I've chosen you," he says this with the slightest chuckle hidden somewhere in that sinister voice of his, that eye squints and his dark voice somehow becomes much darker. "_Congratulations_."

Robin jumps to his feet, angered by such a suggestion of betrayal. "No way would I ever work for you!" He screams, thrashing his hand through the air to visualize his refusal.

"Won't you, now," the man says in a threatening, chilling voice. Robin is instantly grabbed by his two slim shoulders, turned around, and forced to look outward to the city. The man pulls out a detonator and slams his gloved thumb on it. Robin hears an explosion and shoots his head toward a collapsing, abandoned building. His masked eyes expand drastically.

The boy is pushed to the ground. The man kneels down beside him to his eye level as if dealing with an unruly child throwing a temper tantrum.

"Amazing what you can do with technology these days," he provokes, waving a new trigger in the kid's face. Robin throws his arm out, trying to grasp it, but the man lifts it out of reach" Careful," the man taunts, amusingly rubbing his thumb against the button. "It would be a shame if all of the other bombs went off..., so many innocent deaths, so much blood on your hands." Robin pauses, his attention successfully captured.

"Now then, the explosion you just witnessed was merely one microscopic bomb. I've designed them to fit into almost anywhere, including a certain school, Gotham Academy, I believe it was." Robin's stomach knots in horrid understanding. "Just imagine what a couple dozen of them could do to that little school and anything within a 20 mile circumference." His mouth goes dry. He can't speak. "So, do we have a deal?" He draws out his hand, waiting patiently for Robin's response, for the circumstances to sink into his discernment.

Placing a hand to his head, he shakes it slowly, lost in a fog of disbelief, of an incomprehensible situation that seems indigestible to understand. _This couldn't be happening-not to me-not to me!_ He has never been trained to know what to do in this predicament. His mind can't quite comprehend all of the reality he's forced to face.

He clutches his own arms, tightly. He feels so utterly alone and helpless, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. As his mind jumbles together, he tries to ask himself what Batman would do but no answer greets him.

All of nature suddenly seems to turn on him. The wind that once accompanied his flights now slaps him with hatred. The proud moon shuns him, closing the curtains to his performance with dark rain clouds. He feels a drip of misery from those clouds that pierce his skin.

Robin looks up and stiffly raises his hand to the open one. It almost reaches the man's grasp but hesitantly, he pauses, his hidden blue eyes wide with fear. He scans his mind, searching-hunting for any way he can get out of this! Ideas flash by but none suffice, all too risky to take. His breath stops and he feels frozen with fear. He can feel the lively color of his face drain away the more thinks about what he's about to do. His hand shakes, extended out, and he watches it fall into the larger one, sealing the deal with the devil.

"Good boy," he praises in a demeaning manner. Rising to full height, the man places a hand to his own chin in consideration. "For such reasonable behavior, I'll give you a reward." Robin's weak, sorrowful stare lifts to the man. "You'll have a few days to finish your life here. You are not to tell anyone of this arrangement, of me, or of what happened tonight, is that clear?" Robin apathetically nods, his head drooping like a puppet's forced motion. The man pulls a device out of his belt that looks like a digital watch. The kid's languid stare lifts to it. "This will track you and record anything you say so that I am aware of hints you may attempt to give. Don't bother writing out a message. The watch also monitors your pulse rate, informing me of any _suspicious_ behavior. You will wear this 24/7. I will be notified immediately if it is removed for even a nanosecond." The boy takes in the information. "And I will not be notified of any such thing," he demands and Robin can only nod to display his understanding of the horrid deal.

"If I am given any reason to suspect that you are informing anyone outside of our agreement, I will push the trigger." His voice goes to a dark whisper. "I will annihilate them, Robin, and I will make you watch."

Robin's head lowers, an image of his classmates blowing up flashes through his head. He clutches his stomach in dread. He nods his head in understanding. The monster snatches Robin's wrist, removes his green glove, and straps on the watch that feels more like a handcuff. The glove is put back on his hand, hiding away his imprisonment. He swallows his fear down and takes a breath before raising his stare to this...Slade.

"How do I know when I'm suppose to meet you again?" Dick asks in a bold and raspy yet quiet voice.

Slade seems to smile before patting the boy's cheek twice. "Don't worry," he assures him in a belittling manner, "you'll know."

And with that, the shadows have carried Slade away. Robin finds the rain to be pouring now, but he doesn't care. He lifts his gaze to it, hoping that the water may wash away his misery, his mistake, wishing that the rain would just somehow wash him out of existence. At least the clouds' tears can relate to his misery.

His head then bows into his hands and he shakes, absorbing all of what just happened. He doesn't know how long he has to spend the rest of the life he's known and loved. It all can be taken away so fast at any moment. He shakes at the thought. He examines the bargain, scavenging for any loopholes, but fails to find any. He wants- craves for advice. Batman would know what to do, but he can't ask. He can't say anything because of this stupid watch on his wrist. He feels so trapped, so bitterly alone, abandoned to vicious sorrow.

_How did I get into this? How could such a nightmare sneak up on me, completely unprepared?_ He looks back at all of the events he could have altered to lead to a different-a better fate, coming to hate himself with each mistake he finds. He's always accustomed to working with Batman with his issues, but he can't this time, and most likely, never again.

"ROBIN!" Batman yells, but the boy doesn't flinch. He can't move, feeling too numb. His name is shouted out again, its noise complimented by breaking thunder in the distance.

Through the rain, an angry Batman storms up behind him. "Robin, where. were. you?" The silence his ward gives only angers him more. He grabs the youth's soaking shoulder and pulls him out of distractions and into a gaze.

Yet, rather than the pure anger pumping within the Dark Knight's veins, he instantly feels an overpowering sense of pity wash any fury away.

"...Robin...?" he asks, his stern stare softening at the sight of the bleeding nose and shy bruises around his face. The child's red, tear-covered face seizes the bat's anger. Robin, still somewhat shocked of his deal, breathes heavily. His stare is weak as he looks pitifully at his mentor. The masked eyes beg for help, but he has no voice to ask of it.

"What happened...?" Batman asks, leaning near his ward's face, concern dripping out of his rare, soft voice.

Robin looks down to the hand with the watch, his glove covering it. He bites his lip until he tastes blood, forbidding to free the words of truth. A single tear rolls down his face as he lies, quietly, "...I don't know."

-Bruce Wayne-

The pitter-patter of the rain tickles the windows of the Batmobile as it roars down the road. The wheels strike through the deep puddles along the road. Thunder cracks, breaking the pitch-black night in a fraction.

Batman eyes his sidekick who sits strangely still and lets no words through his mouth. His mask doesn't hide the misery from his face. His head lies against the cold window, while he watches the city lights run past him. The only movement he makes is a soft touch to his lip where he feels a trickle of blood streaming down it.

"We should look at that when we head back to the cave," Batman says, trying to encourage Robin to say something, but he doesn't. He lies his head back against the window.

"You're sure you can't remember anything...?" he asks, knowing fully well that his ward is lying. When he thinks of it, he can't really recall any time Robin has lied to him before, thickening his interest in what happened.

Robin shakes his head, slowly, eyes shut lightly. Batman sighs, placing a hand to his temple. _Why won't he talk to me? He's always been so open... _

Returning to the cave, the child slides out of his seat. Batman pulls off his cowl.

"Dick...," he begins but realizes Dick is past reasoning. His silent mind has imprisoned him. Bruce notices Dick slowly reach for his mask. It's pulled off so slowly,...as if he yearns for it to stay on him. Once off, he holds it in his hands, looking at it, profoundly, takes a deep breath, and leaves for the dressing room.

Bruce stands there, unsure of what more to do, what more to say. Dick's mind has consumed him in its own issues, excluding any outside influence. _Someone lured him away for a reason, someone hurt him for a reason, and it wasn't to kill him. _Bruce paces a bit, turning the gears of theory in his head. _It __had to have been someone extremely skilled in physical, but more so, mental methods of damage. _A few suspects of Gotham stream through his head- Scarecrow, Professor Strange. He decides to go to Arkham and check on their presence.

As he leaves, he sees Robin, now dressed as Dick Grayson in his pajamas, walk to the elevator, head low. The creature of the night squints his eyes. _Maybe he'll talk about it in the morning..._

* * *

_**So many mistakes...**_


	3. Breaking Trust

_**Journal, 4/6/13**_

_**Today was really long. I was woken up at six, not in the most easing way, might I add. Granted, I refused to get up, but I was still mad. See, Slade and I kind of had a fight last night. And I don't mean just a fight as in attacking each other for multiple reasons of hatred. This one...really hit home. I don't want to talk about it.**_

_**Back on topic, he woke me up by flipping over my mattress. I threw a punch at him, got served, and ended up pinned against the wall. He lectured me, I yelled at him, and he dragged me to training. The training's been getting longer and I've been, admittedly so, getting more aggressive. But that's not a trait of a villain, is it? Batman and Wonder Woman are pretty aggressive. So it's really no big deal, really it isn't. I justify that to myself every night. It's the only way I can sleep.**_

* * *

~1 week ago from current date~

-Dick Grayson-

The awakening sun splashes its early morning colors into Dick's room, shooing away the fading darkness. A robin starts his song and the boy finds his eyelids gradually lifting up. He slowly wipes away the grog from his eyes and hears the bird's melody. A soft smile spreads on his face as he yawns the night's work off of him.

Unfortunately pieces of last night's event click together in his head and his joy to the bird's song drifts away into an ocean of bitter memory.

This might be his last day here. He shifts under his welcoming covers at the thought. His cozy bed consoles his troubled mind as he snuggles closer to its warmth. The sunrise's colors now are like jewels he knows he may lose any moment now. Will the sun still rise the same way once he joins Slade?

Gently, he slides out of bed to look out at the early morning. Even with being a naturally cheery kid, he had never noticed how beautiful the early morning is. He opens the window-doors and walks out to the balcony. Leaning against it, he looks out at the rich acres of land as if trying to imprint the scenery in his mind, preserving it for as long as possible. He lets out a sigh and the morning air chills it a little.

He listens and doesn't hear the bird anymore. The robin has stopped its tune...in more than one way.

Walking slowly out of his bedroom doors and into the hall, he considers his lies he is to give Bruce for the last of his days here. Guilt punctures his mind. He'd never told Bruce a flat-out lie before and it hurt, it hurt that his remaining words to his guardian, who he had learned to respect and love, are to be lies.

His hand runs down the stair railing, treasuring its feel of polished wood, admiring its dark color. Blue eyes wander across the mansion's details he has never met in past observations. He tilts his head upward to keep the memory of the European chandelier, and its hundreds of crystals reflecting their light, in his head. They sparkle in his stare, like the stars of a country night or broken pieces of heaven.

"No sliding down the banister today, Master Dick?" Alfred questions with a small grin.

Alfred. Has Dick ever stopped to notice how the British man always stands in a completely straight position or that particular white hair hiding amongst his slightly darker ones. Has he ever noticed one wrinkle is more evident than another or how white his teeth are? These small, normally insignificant, details somehow become critical to remember as Dick's sad look tarries on the man. _Will I ever see Alfie again?_

The old friend's face grows more concerned at the child's expression of helplessness. "Master Dick...?" He begins, but Dick puts on a fake smile like a mask of deceit.

"Smelt pancakes downstairs. Are they done yet?" The poor boy struggles to cover his depressed voice with his usual high spirit, but Alfred sees past it.

Nonetheless, he plays along. "Yes,...they're ready..."

"Cool!" Dick exclaims a little too quickly to present actual interest in the breakfast. He leaps on the banister and slides down the rest of the way. Alfred turns, his old eyes holding to the youth, debating if there is an issue hidden behind that counterfeit smile of his. He naturally isn't concerned if it is Bruce with the hidden expression of sorrow, for that man hides his emotions constantly. However, when someone as indicative and light-hearted as Dick disguises his emotions, questions soon follow.

Dick runs down the hall to the sweet smelling pancakes, hoping to find any remains of joy in the kitchen. Yet, as he runs, he feels the tangibility of his surroundings tear away like old wallpaper. Every corner, every smell, sight, and touch doesn't seem real when he considers leaving this house of recollection. He begs his mind to forget his deal last night, to forget his destiny, to let him treasure these small details of the life soon to be only distant flashbacks. But his cruel thoughts continue to remind him of it, of placing his hand into Slade's own, of agreeing to become a villain and turning his back to the life of built memories.

He seats himself at the lone chair with all of the energy he can build. Right in front of him lies a plate full of chocolate-chip pancakes. Looking at it as a piece of art, he admires the steam dancing in the air, the crisp color, the berries toppled over on top. So very carefully, he peels off a piece, observes it, then places it in his mouth, taking in its texture, taste, and warmth. He closes his eyes, appreciating the reminiscence of such a treat.

"Dick?" He hears and bursts open his eyes to find Bruce Wayne, in his pajamas, standing before him.

"Hiya Bruce," he smiles, dispassionately, struggling to let in the same light of glee his eyes once displayed. He knows that he can't let Bruce suspect any fake joy in his face, not just because he can't afford to let the man find out his deal with Slade, but also because he wants his mentor's last memory of him to be a positive one. More than that, Dick wants to fool himself that he is, indeed, happy despite his circumstances. He only has so long in this mansion and he doesn't want to remember it with sobs and depression.

"Did you sleep well last night?" he asks, pulling up a chair to sit beside the child. Dick nods, avoiding eye contact as he swallows a fork full of pancakes.

"Well, that's good," Bruce says, sipping his coffee. "Were you able to remember what happened last night?"

Dick chokes on his food, coughing violently. Bruce rushes to his side, slapping his back. Roughly, the boy forces the food back down better. He snatches a few gasps of breath before answering, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bruce's eyes narrow at the absolute lie. "Last night...," he says pretending that he needs to jog his ward's memory, "...on the other side of town, on the national bank's building..." Dick pretends to be confused. "You don't remember _any _of that?"

Biting his lip, Dick sinks into his seat. _He knows I'm lying. _He pats his knee, a habit of his when giving an untruth. Bruce takes note of that as he continues.

"Someone lead you there, correct?" A drop of sweat slithers down Dick's face. Bruce is going investigator on him. _I'm dead, I'm SO dead. _He breathes slowly through his nose, trying to control his heart rate. If Slade finds his heart rate too fast, he may assume that Dick is trying to break their deal by telling someone then...then the school and everyone around it...they won't make it. He gulps at the thought.

"Am I correct?" Bruce demands more sternly.

"I can't remember, I told you that." He's playing a risky game. Maintaining his heart level while lying to a master- _the_ master- detective is nearly impossible, especially for one who always practices honesty.

"That's a lie, and you know it." His voice isn't angry but the harsh words might as well be. Dick looks at his food, preferring it than to the hard stare weighing on him. He breathes out, calmly, slowly adjusting to the situation. Indifferently, he pokes the fork into his pancakes, playing with it.

"Dick,..." his voice is called a bit kinder this time, "you know you can tell me anything. I won't get mad."

_Yes you will, _Dick tells himself. _I got distracted and obsessed and now I'm in the biggest mess imaginable. _His eyes fall to his bare feet, mouth twitching in temptation to tell, but he restrains it. If only he can explain it, explain the whole, twisted, unbelievable story. If only he can just apologize for whatever he did wrong and run away from the cold destiny awaiting him. If only..._No_, he orders himself. _It is the way it is and there's no helping that. Maybe I'll get the trigger, maybe not, but either way wishing won't do anything...I just have to play my part for now._

He looks up to the elder, eyes bold and hard, and answers, firmly, "I don't remember anything." A silence sits between the two. Bruce's stare holds against the younger's for a good while, both waiting for what they want.

Eventually shifting his eyes away, Dick slides off his seat. "I'm gonna be late for school," he tells Bruce before leaving the door, unsure if he'll ever walk through it again.

School drags out, cruelly. Occasionally, Dick's head cocks over to random corners, halls, and doors, wondering where the bombs hide. Every one around him smiles and laughs, jokes and complains like any other day. Some of his classmates catch up with him and talk about a show they see on TV or a new book...He can't really recall what they say or whom they address. All he can focus on is how highly explosive weapons are positioned to go off at any time... and no one knows, no one knows what dreaded danger they're stuck in here.

Of course right now is the only time that he's certain the bombs will remain neutral because he's in the school. _Wouldn't want to bomb your apprentice, would you Slade? _He scoffs in his head. _I could call Bruce, tell him about the whole blackmail sitch. Sure, because of this stupid watch, Slade'll hear it, but since I'm in the school, he can't bomb it...unless he makes a personal visit and..._Dick stops there. He doesn't want to think about it any further. There are many options to get out of the deal, but is risking all of these lives worth it? _No, choosing his freedom over hundreds of innocent lives isn't the heroic thing to do. _

"Earth to do Dick," he hears a red-head call, poking him with her fork. Fork? _Wasn't I just in English?_ He looks around, notifying he's in a lunchroom. _Must've been going through the motions again._

"Hey, Babs," he smiles, noticing a full lunch-tray in his own hands.

"Dude, you okay?" asks Jake beside him. _How long as he been there?_ "You were like that in math today too."

"I'm fine," he mutters, faking a yawn, "just didn't get too much sleep last night, s'all." Jake nods accepting the excuse, but Barbara isn't as fooled. Her green eyes shoot Dick a suspicious look.

As they reach their table, Dick rubs his temple. "Y'know, I think I need some fresh air." He turns to leave, but finds Barbara following him.

"I'll come with you," she insists.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"I wasn't asking, Grayson." Dick rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother arguing. There is no use when it comes to her.

"So what's really bothering you?" She asks as they both go through the doors.

"Nothing." His head avoids her stare, looking out to his left.

"You're a horrible liar," she scolds, punching his shoulder with her arm not holding a tray. "So spill."

Dick sighs, slumping down on a bench near the playground. _She can be worse than Bruce. _"Okay, fine. My... cousin...doesn't have long to live. And he... doesn't know how to spend the rest of his life, what to say to the ones he..._loves_." Barbara goes quiet, eyes wide with horror.

"Oh,...wow, that's...deep," she looks down at her tray of food, feeling stupid that she even asked. "Were you...were you two close...?"

"Yeah, yeah,...I guess." Lies are becoming easier to make and heavier to carry. Some of the closest people to him are being fed these stupid lies and it makes him hate himself, but he knows he can't come clean, not unless he's okay with blood on his hands. "I don't...don't know what to tell him. I don't...know...how to tell him how to live the rest of h-his life to the fullest...,y'know?"

Barbara bites her lip and looks over to her friend. "How he...chooses to live the rest of his life can only be up to him...But I think that he'd feel more..._content_...with leaving this life if he tells the people close to him...how much he really_ loves_ them...," she says with wisdom beyond her age.

Dick takes in her words like a sponge. To a certain extent, he is telling her the truth of his troubles. He doesn't think he's actually going to die, at least not yet, but his identity, may be as good as gone. Thus, it's more relieving to express some of his emotions to someone while knowing that the lives of Gotham citizens are safe.

"Guess you're right. I'll...I'll tell him that."

-Bruce Wayne-

Dick grows more distant with each day that rips away. He refuses to discuss the attack that occurred nights ago, and is aggravated each time Bruce mentions it. He gets distracted easily as if some other matter captivates his thoughts. There are times where Dick avoids the stare of his mentor while other times, all he does is stare as if the man is going to vanish at any moment. Bruce naturally gives him a questioning look, causing Dick to shoot his head away or slap on another one of those fake smiles.

The smiles,...they're so unreal, so pretend that it hurts knowing that he feels he must imagine he is happy. The light in his eyes drain out, leaving only fear to shadow the blue orbs. He walks more than runs, his hands wandering on walls, remembering their touch. His footsteps are light, his voice softer, and seems to debate about speaking before he does, something far from a normal habit of his. At times, Bruce turns to look at him and only sees a ghost, lost in spirit.

"_Dick, I need you to be honset with me," _Bruce recalls in a conversation, two of them sat at the table for dinner, both knowing the words that were sure to form. _"Do you remember anything, anything at all, about what happened last night?"Bruce asked_

"_I...remember a drug bust then ch-" He stops himself as if reconsidering his story, "...then sitting in the rain...when you found me up on top of the bank."_

_Bruce tries to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume Dick's telling the truth. "How do you suppose you earned those beatings?" _

"_...'m not sure. Maybe I got a concussion during a fight." _

"_Maybe..." Bruce actually considers the concept. "There are no signs of a hit on your head though."_

"_Weird..." Dick takes a bite of his potatoes, eyes darting off of Bruce and onto the vase perched in the corner. Bruce follows his stare, unsure of why he's looking at an antique with such interest. Dick's eyes darken in, what looks like, sorrow._

_Alfred walks past them, giving Bruce a look as if to ask him if Dick is opening up to the truth. He __looks back to the butler, shaking his head, slowly, then returning his focus on Dick._

"_Dick," Bruce calls and the boy jumps a bit._

"_Hm! What?" His eyes are wide, full of attention now._

"_You were doing it again."_

"_Doing what?"_

"_Staring off into space."_

"_Oh...," Dick's stare falls again as if he's caught robbing a jewelery store. "I was just...thinking..." Dick seems to notice the look of curiosity on Bruce's face so he continues, "...thinking back to last night," his eyes snap open almost like he let out a secret, "er, trying to remember what happened, that is."_

"_Any luck?" His bushy eyebrow rises._

_Dick shakes his head, stuffing food in his mouth almost like he's trying to gag his mouth from telling something._

Bruce sighs, considering the conversation, as he scrolls down a list of psychotic villains capable of changing Dick so. Yet all of his reasonable suspects are restrained in Arkham. He checked the prison at least twice.

A tap on the shoulder frees the hero from his thoughts."Are we going on patrol tonight?" Asks Dick now dressed in his Robin attire.

Dick has been desperate, more than ever, to go on patrol, almost like he thinks he'll never get the chance to do it again. Bruce has caught him in his room, looking at the Robin suit, rubbing the 'R' symbol.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Robin," he answers, careful to note his ward's reaction. "You haven't been very alert in the past few days and-"

"I will be!" he pleads, eyes hurtful. "I will, I promise, I will!" His hands grasp the man's black cape.

Batman, a bit surprised by such a distressed response, turns to face Robin. Yes, the kid is always eager to help on patrol, and disappointed when unable to do so, but he's never been so hysterical, so desperate to assist. Also considering his lack of emotion during the past few days, this is all the more unexpected.

"It's more than that," his guardian continues, digging his stare into the youth's. "Ever since the night you disappeared, you refuse to tell me why you went missing and what happened." Dick's pitiful look hardens, although not wanting to, prepares to defend his lies.

"I told you, I don't know what happened!"

"STOP INSULTING ME WITH LIES!"

Dick takes a step back, surprised to hear such an outraged demand from one so controlled. Bruce never raises his voice with him. Never. Although hardly contemplating it before, Dick realizes how much the lies hurt Bruce. The two of them had implanted a strong bond of trust within themselves ever since the boy became Robin. Through battle and training, heat and trials, their trust strengthens and holds a firmer grasp of their relationship. Yet since Dick is forced to lie, that trust is ripped out, leaving a scar of skepticism on The Dark Knight's wound.

Suddenly feeling sick with realization of his actions, Dick's gaze falls to the ground, guilt visually shadowing his face. How long Bruce has hid this pain, is unknown. After all, the man doesn't admit to pain whether physical or emotional.

"I want the truth," stare stern and hard, Bruce pins his look to Dick's.

Visible self hatred overflows Dick's heart as he forces lies to slap his mentor. "I-I am telling th-the truth," he states, voice quivering and tears brimming the corners of his eyes behind the mask. "I am, Bruce, I am..!"

Tempered, heavy breathing, through the man's nose, beats the air. He rubs his neck, pulling the reigns on his anger and steering his patience. _How can he lie to my face like that? He's never done that before, never. _He looks at the younger, eyes tired, craving pure honesty.

"Tell me that without your mask," he tries to order, but it comes out more of a plea.

"No," he whispers. "No, no, Bruce, I don't want to..." He reaches for his mask as if to protect his fragile blue eyes from the burning gaze of disappointment. "I don't want to...Just let me go on patrol with you please, Bruce, please?"

"Whoever attacked you,...he or she is somehow making you feel like you have to lie..." Batman says, voice dark to force truth out of Robin's mouth. The younger hero's heart hammers against its rib-cage as if trying to burst free. His Adam's apple tries to leap out of his throat, but he tames it. Color abandons his face, panicking at being caught. "Dick,...you can tell me. Whoever hurt you won't know, I promise."

"I don't-," He hates himself with every fiber of his body as he forces the words out to butcher both of them, "-I don't know what you're talking about.." He isn't going to fake an expression of confusion, not having the strength nor willpower to do so.

Batman's face hardens in disappointment. He rises, pulls his cowl over his face, and walks past the youth. "I need to work with a partner I can trust, Robin, and if you're not willing to do that-"

"You can, Bruce! You can! Just let me go with you, please! You won't regret it, I promise!" He runs after his teacher. "Bruce!"

"Someone hurt you!" he yells, his cape swiping around sharply as he turns to the child's face. "Whether you remember or not, someone hurt you both on the outside and within. Now I can't say for certain why you're lying to cover it up. Maybe you're forced to do that, but until I find out _what exactly _is going on, I can't trust you to come with me. " His eyes narrow, voice dropping to a whisper. "Whoever has been getting in your head, whatever they did, it is NOT going to happen again."

"I need to come!" He stomps his foot for emphasis, anger now overpowering his guilt and depression.

"What you _need_ to do is stay here while I look for whoever hurt you!" The man's voice stabbed with a sharp edge to it. "And that is exactly what you're going to do!"

"I HATE YOU!" he screams with a pitchy cry, running away to the elevator at above his top speed.

The words echo through the cave with a stinging pain as the creature of the night stands still, taking in the bitter, crippling wound of words.

-Slade-

The master mind leans back in his chair, listening to the whole conversation. Beneath the metal mask of his, he smiles. _Trust is difficult to obtain but so easy to be broken._ He rises, both hands held behind him._ And theirs will be broken...bit. by. bit.._

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I haven't really done my A/Ns yet. I'm not sure why :p just lazy, I guess. Anyways, thanks to everyone reading, favoriting, and following this story. And a special thanks to dlsky for your perspective of my writing style. It's my first time trying an active voice to my stories. R&R**

**-Tabie OUT! **


	4. Final Words

_**Journal, 4/7/13**_

_**It gets really lonely and I wonder if it's worth it. It's a stupid question, really. I mean, of course staying here to protect a bunch of innocent Gothamites is the right thing to do. But what if Slade already blew up the school? What if everyone's already dead? What if I'm fighting for nothing because there's nothing's left? There's no reason Slade would have for bombing the school since I'm already here. But what if he did? The question is killing me. I HAVE to know! I'm growing so desperate that I'm tempted to ask Slade, myself. But he's so unpredictable. Maybe my asking him would make him blow it up just to torment me. Better not risk it. **_

_**Sometimes I wonder if Bruce has given up on me. I couldn't blame him if he did. I distanced myself from him in the last days I had with him. I didn't want to lie. But I had to. Sade's stupid watch made sure of that. I still remember the last time I saw him. I keep going back to that memory. I still remember my last words...**_

~1 week ago from current date~

-Bruce Wayne-

Bruce sits at the table, awaiting Dick's company. He isn't sure what he's suppose to say or how he's suppose to act, but he feels obliged to at least see his ward. Following last night, neither of the two feel welcome to sleep. There are things they regret saying, actions they regret taking. Anger and impatience push the two apart. Bruce looks down to his folded arms.

_Is it all my fault?_ Bruce questions himself, looking back to all of the times he puts his hero work above the child's welfare. He wonders if Dick even knows how much he cares for him. _Should I have told him his worth to me? Should I have gotten past my comfortable solitude and just told him? Have I acted too coldly, too distant all this time that Dick doesn't feel secure enough talking to me? Perhaps. But it's also obvious that he's been sworn to secrecy by someone..._

Small foot steps echo down the hall as Dick enters the room. He looks startled to see Bruce sitting there. The young boy dries his lips and clears his lips before saying, "hi." Bruce nods curtly. Dick shifts his feet uncomfortably before he takes the set seat beside the man. His eyes look down to his plate filled with eggs and bacon, occasionally looking at his mentor through the corner of his eye.

"Eggs, huh?" whispers Dick, an attempted smile plasters on his face as he struggles to make small-talk.

"Scrambled. Just like you like them," says Bruce, face socially kind, but voice tired and concerned.

"I-I'll tell Alfred 'thanks'." Dick stuffs a fork-full of eggs in his mouth, hoping he can avoid the conversation with his mouth full. While he chews, silence sits near them. Bruce looks at him, troubled thoughts gliding through his head.

"We called you down for breakfast a while ago. Why didn't you come?"

"...on a walk...to see the sunrise..."

Bruce considers this for a moment. Dick is trying to walk away from his troubles. His youthful thinking fools him in believing that stress is something one can just leave behind. It is not, not at all. Stress is a shadow that binds to one's mind. It follows you like a baby duck follows its mother. It stalks you like the moon in a clear night meadow. Physical distance does-cannot separate stress from someone.

Bruce sighs. Dick is too young to understand this. The billionaire wants to address this, but frets making him go silent again so chooses to ignore the comment.

"Well...," says Dick, finishing his plate, "better get to school. Alfred'll kill me if I'm late." He picks up his back-pack and swings it over his shoulder, heading back to the hall. He stops himself and looks back slowly. His bright, blue eyes carry a longing look to them as he stares back to his mentor. His eyebrows bag, seeming to fear as if everything in front of him will just fade away like the sun does as storm clouds steal the warmth.

"Bruce...?" he asks, hesitantly.

The man's attention is instantly apprehended. "Yes?" he asks with a large amount of hope, uncommon for one so solemn and dark.

Dick opens his mouth, wanting words to flow out, but something restricts his tongue. He looks down to his feet, suddenly fidgety and worried. Then his stare wanders to the watch, but doesn't seem to be looking at the time. Bruce squints his eyes at the watch. _When did he get that? _

"Nothing...," he breathes out in defeat. He smiles kindly, those affectionate, blue eyes twinkling in the summer's young light through the window. "Just...have a good day."

-Barbara Gordon-

School drags out like an old dog on a long walk. The redhead girl stares at her textbook, but her attention dwells elsewhere.

She looks to the drowsy boy on the other side of the classroom. Dick Grayson's head bobs up and down like an apple bobbing in water. Barbara wrinkles a piece of paper and tosses it at Dick once the teacher turns his back. Dick's eyes snap open and looks to the source of the the thrown paper. Barbara mouths the words, 'stay awake'.

Dick looks at her blankly for a second then lets a fond smile slip in her direction. Barbara's face goes redder than her hair, which provokes the younger of the two to chuckle softly.

"Is something funny, Mr. Grayson?" came a sharp voice from the teacher in front of him.

Dick gives a half grin before answering nonchalantly, "Nothing, sir. Just the fact that you got rejected by the principal, s'all."

All of the wind in the room seems to rush out as Dick smiles smugly at the man in front of him. The teacher blushes, furiously at the words. His mouth opens and shuts like a fish slowly as he fathoms to collect words that may cover up his embarrassment. He wants to threaten Dick, to retort that his claim is a lie, but a loud bell blocks out any such attempt.

"Catch you later, Romeo," mocks Dick before leaving while most of the class is in shock.

Somehow Dick doubts he'll be called to the principal's office for this.

Barbara furiously gathers her books and dashes out of the class to find the acrobat.

"Are you crazy?" she yells, running beside him. As angry as she wants to be she can't conceal the smile yanking on her freckled cheeks. "Mr. West hates you enough as it is! You're practically digging your own grave, Grayson."

"I tend to do that," chuckles Dick, rubbing the back of his head.

"Yeah, well. It's a stupid thing to do! How did you even find out that he asked her out?"

"You shouldn't write things in an e-mail unless you're okay with the world knowing it."

"You_ hacked _his e-mail?!"

"Wasn't hard," he shrugs.

"You and your geeky computer club..."

"What? And your book club isn't geeky?"

"Shut up," she demands, hitting him in the arm.

"Ouch," he smiles before sliding into a small amount of silence. "Y'know...," he continues more seriously, "Maybe you should have that club at Gotham's Public library. It'd match the theme of 'book' club."

"Dick," she smiles, "Not everyone has a chauffeur to drive them places. We're already at school when it starts. It's easier just to stay there."

"Well, you shouldn't be at the school so often," argues Dick, stubbornly.

"Your computer club's at school," says Barbara defensively.

Dick huffs his resentment. "I'm quitting that club. You should quit yours too. It's not safe-" He stops himself from going any further in his warning, forgetting that Slade can hear this conversation from the watch.

"Dick,...what are you talking about...?" Barbara's eyes cradle concern and confusion.

"...Nothing. Forget it. Just try and..._get out _a little more..." It's not long after his words that he looks up to a camera in the corner. He sticks his tongue out at it.

Barbara looks at the camera as well, not recalling there ever being a camera there before. She ignores that as she considers Dick's recent behavior, struggling to comprehend what he is thinking. Why he's so...so out of it. He's is a natural dare devil, Barbara knows that, but he doesn't usually harass a mean teacher like that. She knows Mr. West is cruel, especially to him. During the beginning of the school year, he constantly bad-mouths Bruce Wayne and brings up Dick's personal past as an acrobat. He calls on Dick a lot, and declares the boy's answers wrong, even though they are completely correct. Yet she doesn't ever expect Dick to say something like that.

_Dick's smarter than this. He'll get in trouble, and he doesn't want to disappoint Bruce by getting into it. And why is he insisting that I avoid he school? So what's up?Maybe it has to do with his sick cousin..._

"So... how's your cousin doing?"

"Cousin? What cousin?" asks Dick, caught off guard.

Barbara gives him a suspicious stare. "Your cousin. Your sick cousin...?"

"Oh! Right, right," corrects Dick, slapping his forehead for his own stupidity of forgetting that lie. "Better. He's doing much better."

"Uh-huh," she says, clearly losing his trust. "That's a miraculous recovery, huh."

"Yup. Doctors said it was a miracle," says Dick, shoving his hands in his pocket.

"You do seem a bit happier than the past few days..."

"Guess it just made me realize to enjoy the life we're living while we can."

Barbara reconsiders the value for the story of his cousin. "Guess so," she says, exiting outside of the school. She's about to walk past him, but he grabs her arm before she can leave.

"Wait," whispers Dick. Her emerald eyes gaze at him, making him feel a bit of warmth to his cheeks. "I, well, I remember you telling me how, if you had only a few days left, you'd write something to people you love." His sky-blue eyes meet hers. "Babs, I really love you." Her eyes go wide. "I don't think I've ever realized that before...I-" He shoves a folded piece of paper into her hand. "Here."

She looks at it in disbelief, caressing the paper before returning her eyes to Dick. He looks older, sounds older. She now just notices the curl in his locks that always finds away to his face no matter how many times it's gelled back. His thick, night-black eyelashes contrast the brightest pair of eyes as he stares into her face. _When did little Dickie grow up?_

"You can only open it when I'm gone," he says, holding out his pinkie. "You have to promise you'll wait until then."

A tear peeks in the corner of her young eyes. "Dick,...I don't want you to talk about this. I don't like it."

"You don't like me?" asks Dick, his face showing pure agony.

"That's not it!" she yells, gaining a few kid's attention, but they continue to walk away. When they're gone, she finishes her words. "I like you...too much that I want to hear this, too much that I want to hear you talk about being..._gone_."

"Babs," teases Dick, grasping her pinkie to seal the covenant between kids. "Your maturities showing."

Before she can respond, Dick pulls her in and gives a quick kiss. It isn't on the hand-not on the cheek, but hits the full target, the lips, a dramatic action for kids of the age eight. Neither of them care about the kids around them. They can't even see them. When Barbara opens her eyes, she can't see Dick either. The little ninja disappears once again!

Though someone she can see is her dad, in the police car, loading his hand-gun.

-Dick Grayson-

Dick sits on his bed, smiling at the recent memory. Considering the people he loves makes him discover how much he really loves her. The way that bright, red hair falls over her glasses makes him want to move it. Perhaps he will tomorrow when the teacher hates him.

Mr. West...Dick knows that he'll be leaving with Slade eventually. Why not live like it's his last day? Sure, it's depressing when he considers the bitter reality he is forced to face. Yet when one has only a handful of time in a place, there's no room to fill it with depression. Dick is sure that there will be plenty of that where he's going.

He lies down and recalls all the kindness Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, and all his friends show him. Bruce,..he takes him in when no one else will, hardly knowing the kid. He takes him on as his sidekick and teaches him to fight, to fight to his fullest potential. Dick's certain that that will come in handy when he meets Slade again.

Then he remembers him saying that he hates the man, who has done so much for him, just yesterday. Guilt cringes his heart at that.

A sudden beeping noise disrupts his thoughts. He bolts up into a stance, looking for the source of the noise. It doesn't take him long to find it's coming from the watch Slade makes him wear. He looks at it and finds text glowing on the screen instead of the time. _When could it do that?_

**IT'S TIME **, it read.

Dick's eyes bulge open. He feels sick all of a sudden. The world starts to spin and he collapses on his bed. He doesn't know why he feels so weak and helpless. He knows this is what he must do, but it's still so hard to accept. Why now? He's just beginning to enjoy the rest of the life here and Slade is just going to take it away, like it's nothing? He looks at the watch carefully, trying to see if there's a keypad he can use to write back. Maybe he can ask-_beg _for more time.

**YOU'RE VISITING WALLY SOON, CORRECT? **

Dick's breath is caught. How does he know that?

**ENJOY IT. **

_This can't be happening! I'm not ready!_ Dick thinks while shaking his head. _I need to see one more sunrise, go to one more day of school, see Babs again! _He begins to sweat and go pale. _I need to eat one more meal Alfred makes, thank him for all he's done for me. I need o thank Bruce! I need to be Robin one more time! I need-!_

**DON'T WORRY ABOUT FINDING ME.**

A stray tear runs down his face as he feels his memories and loved ones rip apart from him. He's not ready for this. Not yet, no, not yet.

**I'LL FIND YOU.**

Dick finally shatters in horrifying misery, grasping his sheets for support as his knees hit the floor. He pushes the wild tears back. He shakes, fists turning white from the death-grip on the sheets. Hardly able to breathe, Dick looks around once more at his room, trying to remember it.

He rushes to his closet, throws open the door, and pulls out a back-pack he fills with memorable objects he wishes to take with him. He's shaking like a crumpled leaf on a bare branch in a cloudy, dark autumn day, but he manages to throw on the back-pack.

A sob breaks out, but he forces it back into his quivering lips. A car horn honks from the driveway. It's Wally. He sucks in his shivering breath and endeavors desperately to appear dignified. He sticks up his chin, _It's the right thing to do. _He wants to write Alfred and Bruce a note as well, but he doesn't think he'll have time. _You're saving a lot of lives._ He orders those legs to move forward. _Don't look sad for Bruce and Alfred. I don't want them to remember me this way. _He walks down the stairs solemnly. _Maybe this isn't the last time I'll see them. _The hopeful thought seems to calm him down. _Yeah, I'll find a way out of this, yeah... _He reaches the bottom of the stairs and heads toward the door.

"Dick," says Bruce, walking over to him, "Look, before you go, I just wanted to apologize. I didn't mean to pressure you into talking last night-"

His words are cut off as the youth slams him into a hug.

"I'm sorry!" cries the boy, shaking dramatically. "I don't hate you, not at all! I-I was mad and stubborn and-and I love you!" Dick's mouth shuts automatically. He doesn't mean to say that! He's too old to say such childish things, especially in front of **Batman**. _Way to go Grayson. Have him remember you as a baby. _

Bruce's eyes are wide and shocked before Dick releases himself immediately. He darts to the door, and runs out before his mentor can say anything.

"I-I'll see you later," blurts out the kid, before slamming the door.

"_**I'll see you later." I don't know if the final words I gave him were a lie. I don't know if I required so much hope that I had to word my confidence out loud. I don't know if I said it because it was so casual and I wanted to cover up my recent babyish behavior of hugging him and telling him "I love him." Our relationship has always been nonverbal and I don't know if I crossed the line by saying that. I didn't mean to; it just came out. I wonder if he's okay with that. More importantly, I **__**wonder if I'll ever have the chance to ask him.**_

* * *

**A/N: This chapter is for the poll I put up a while ago about which girl would be best with Robin. And here are the results... (drum roll please) The winner is... Barbara Gordon! Starfire came in next, then Zatanna, and Artemis and Raven tied in last place. So, as a result, this chapter is dedicated to the winner :) Congrats, Babs!**

**Also, sorry about the long update. I'm taking turns of writing this then Old Target, New Angle.**

**Read and review, please!**

**-Tabie OUT!**


	5. Unexpected Death

_**Journal, 4/8...or 9...? Not sure /13**_

_**You ever have that feeling where you wanna punch the crap outta your punching bag? No? You should spend time with Slade. He's affected my life so much. I think I'll name my punching bag after him. I'm sure he'll be flattered. Who wouldn't be? I have a sharpie. I can draw his stupid face on it. In fact, I think I'll do it right now. So bye. **_

_**Oh! Oh! Wait! I almost forgot: I **__**hate**__** Slade. There. Need to have my daily announcement of that. Later.**_

* * *

~6 days ago from current date~

-Dick Grayson-

Dick runs into the hotel room, practically a minute before Wally can even reach its door.

"You slow-poke," teases Dick, playfully as he wanders down the hall with Wally right beside him.

"One day I'll be faster than you," declares the red-head, opening the door to his own room. Dick follows inside, flopping his back-pack to the floor as he leaps onto yellow a bean-bag.

"Yeah right." Dick looks around at the hotel. It's pretty nice of Wally and his aunt to invite him here while his uncle Barry is in Gotham, doing a lab presentation. In fact, his first time meeting Wally was at one of those lab presentations since they were the only kids in the building.

The room's relatively small...well, compared to his own room in the mansion. There's a couple of Flash action figures posed on the above shelf. Chuckling, Dick wonders if Wally would be such a fan of the speedster if he wasn't his uncle.

"Hey, why'd you bring the back-pack?" asks Wally, pointing over to the object in the far corner.

Dick bites his lip, looking away. He doesn't want to even wander the darker thoughts of reality, of the truth that Slade is coming for him. He doesn't know when or how, but he does know he's coming, and he won't allow his last moments of freedom to be felt with the misery infecting the heart he feels swelling in pain.

"No reason," Dick shouts back quickly then attempts to sway the conversation away from the road it takes. "Hey, let's play that 'Injustice: Gods Among Us' game you got!"

"Shhh!" warned the older kid. "Aunt Iris would kill me if she knew Barry got it for me." Wally grabs his face in horror. "Or worst- she'll call my mom who'd ground me!"

The younger smiles in amusement. _Somehow, him getting busted seems a bit of a smaller dilema than my problems... _Part of him wonders if maybe he could leave a note, writing of his secret black-mail situation. Of course then that means that Wally will find out his whole I.D thing. Okay, maybe he'll address it to Bruce. He can describe what Slade looks like. Maybe Batman already has him on record. Dick mentally hand-slaps himself! He should have checked the files on the Batcomputer! It might have mentioned a weakness, or his identity, or-

"Hey, dude?"

Dick turns to his friend, breaking away from his building thoughts.

"You okay? You look kinda...I dunno...sad...?"

Dick puts on that same stupid, old smile. "Nah, I'm fine...just a bit distracted s'all..."

"Is it..." Wally's green eyes flicker a bit in hesitance for his following words, "is it cause I mentioned my mom? Y'know cause your mom died...? Oh wait! I'm sorry- I didn't mean to-!"

"S'okay," Dick shrugs. "I'm not gonna cry every time someone mentions their parents. That'd be stupid. 'Sides, it's almost been a year since...well, y'know."

"Yeah," sighs Wally, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah,...I know. But does it still...bother you?"

Grimacing, Dick sighs. He doesn't want to talk about this, not right now. He's wanting to forget about his troubles right now...Slade, the lies, the agreement. He just wants to spend a normal afternoon with his friend, someone who can help distract him from the depressing matter of his apprenticeship. The fog of discouragement surrounds him; all he wants is a light to divert his attention for as long as possible. The heavy, overwhelming situation is obviously going to engulf him with misery eventually. He wants to neglect it for as long as possible.

"You know what really bothers me?" questions Dick, with a smirk. "You're trying to avoid playing your new game just so I don't kick your butt!"

Wally blinks, slowly acknowledging that his friends is building a fence around his emotions. Unsure of why, he ignores such dangerous behavior and enters the world of youthful competition. "In your dreams, rich boy."

Following such a reaction comes the battle of controllers. Dick naturally chooses Batman as his avatar while Wally chooses Flash. Their thumbs fly across the buttons, brutal blows hitting each other on the screen. Joking threats slash out of their mouths as they dual with the energy only young boys can possess.

Slowly, Dick's worries drift away into the essence of careless joy. His demons of fear and anxiety melt into the back of his mind as all of his focus centers on the game. All the tormenting days of lying, waiting, anticipating just fall away, leaving him with the pillow of tranquility. Right now he's just playing a video game, like any normal boy with his friend. No stressful thoughts of being watched inflict his mind.

Unfortunately, such never lasts...

A gunshot fires. It isn't one from the game. Breath gets stuck in Dick's mouth. His eyes bulge open, pupils still in fright.

"Whoa! Did you hear-?!" begins Wally in fear, but he cannot finish his words. A scream cuts him off from them.

_Iris!_

Dick and Wally leap off of their places to run out of their room and into the kitchen. Fright cripples their heart at the sight.

A buff man stands in their kitchen, a gun pointed at Iris. He's dressed in black, a ski mask over his face. Her eyes turn to them as if ordering them to run.

They are doing no such thing.

"Get away from her!" yells Wally to the intruder. He runs at the man, runs faster than ever before, faster than anytime he raced Dick.

"Wally!" yells Dick, trying to reach for the collar of his red shirt.

The man easily catches the boy in a neck-holding grip.

"I wouldn't try the same stunt if I were you," lectures the man to the younger child. "My finger might just slip on this trigger."

That voice. _**That voice!**_ That's Slade's voice!** What** is he doing!? Why's he doing **this**!? Dick keeps his part of the deal and THIS is his reward?! What's going on?!

Despite the betrayal he feels, Dick tries to think logically. He can't move. Slade will pull the trigger. He can't question Slade's actions. That will reveal too much. So, giving the villain a glare of deeper understanding, he speaks as if not knowing the man behind the mask.

"_What_ do you want?" he asks, gaining a dark edge to his tone.

"It's a message for Wayne, really," says Slade with a cock of the head. "I shoot you as revenge. Nothing personal."

All sense and understanding crumbles on the boy, like a weight of old bricks to a wrecked building. Still, he forces his face to be detached, not affording to reveal his confusion and doubt. Is Slade acting? Why would he want to act though? Is this really about Bruce? Slade does know his secret identity. Being a villain, there's plenty of logical reasons why he would hold a grudge against a hero-especially Batman. There are countless maniacs who will offer their good leg for Batman's death. If that is the case, why does he wait until here and now to kill Dick? He could have easily ended his life a few days ago. Does he want loved ones to witness his death? Yet, Wally and Iris aren't the closest to him...

_What he heck is going on here?!_

"He's just a child!" cries Iris through bitter tears of helplessness.

"You jerk!" cried Wally. "Picking on a kid cause you're upset! That's the most childish thing I've ever-!"

The boy is cut off as Slade tightens his hold, practically choking him. Iris cries in distress.

"STOP!" yells Dick, slashing his hand through the air. "I'll do what you want. Just leave them alone!"

"Lock these two in the room," orders Slade to the two buff, henchmen entering through the door. Dick stares at them, identifying their mechanical movement. They forcefully pull Iris and Wally into the bedroom, despite their loud, pressing deputes and implores.

"Dick, RUN! You're fast; you can get away!" cries Wally, thrashing his legs for sweet escape.

They are roughly thrown into the door by the henchmen who lock them in, their muscular form barricading them inside.

Their shouts leak through the door. Concerned bystanders are heard through the other door, trying to break through to help, but two other henchmen keep the door shut. The slamming, the shouts, the cries, the gun aiming at him...it all, _all_ feeds Dick's belief in the legitimate threat.

The small kitchen area floods with danger, suffocating Dick's sanity. He hears his heart beating against his rib-cage for freedom of the horrifying reality. A ball of saliva develops within his throat, too scared to rush down. A drop of cold sweat strokes his pallid face in a pathetic attempt to pacify the building tension. The only part of him that refuses to show fear are his pure blue eyes that stare within Slade's own brown one, questioning the whole situation. He can't read the expression in Slade's eye. The man hides his emotion so well, but then, it's probably easier to when one hold all of the cards.

"I won't even give Wayne your corpse back," Slade says cruelly with a chuckle absorbing his tone. "I'll throw it out in the ocean, let you sink down to Davy Jone's..."

Dick clenches his teeth. The screams and shouts don't stop. Dick can hear Iris cry as Wally bangs the civilians outside of the hotel room try to stab through with knives, chairs, lamps, anything they can.

The noise of panic naturally rushes the thoughts that stream through Dick's head. Is this fate better than the apprenticeship? At least he'll die a hero. He can gleam in pride at that knowledge. Dying as a hero is far better than allowing his darker side to engulf all of his good traits and form him into the villain. It's better to let one's divine light simply go out than to let the light turn into a fire and destroy everything he cares about. He's not going to give Slade the satisfaction of fear. .

His color returns to his face, fists clutched. His eyebrows narrow in determination. His back straightens. He glares down the masked menace.

"One last stand of victory?" asks Slade, placing his finger on the gun.

"Best way to leave," grins Dick, confidently, a strip of tear threatening to escape his eyes that are the color of the sky he gets ready to fly toward.

The shouts enhance the thick tension.

"Shame I have to kill you." The pity in Slade's voice is fake as the mask he wears. _Man has no pity. Surprise, surprise..._

Banging doors echo the last noise he hears.

"Better than joining you," whispers Dick, lowly.

An anger flames within that single eye at the insult. He lifts the gun.

A helicopter is heard just outside the window.

Slade shoots Dick.

Screams ensue, filling Dick's pounding ears.

He lies on the floor, blue eyes freezing into a lighter shade. Eyelids gradually fall until his long, dark eyelashes brush against his chilled cheeks.

He's stuffed in a bag and placed into the helicopter.

A single breath falls into the limited air in the confining, dark bag.

_Mom, Dad...Miss me?_

* * *

_**AN: Okay, that's a depressing chapter... **_

_**Reviews!**_

_**Tabie Out***_


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